


Chapter Forty-Three: Six Seconds

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [44]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers Generation Two
Genre: Battle, Character Death, Gen, Gun Violence, Head Injury, Letters, Loss of Limbs, Other, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3757747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of shore leave, the crew of the <i>Lost Light</i> return to routine, some with new friendships forged and new loves found, unaware of the horror rumbling in the basement ...</p><p>...Red Alert had been right all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Forty-Three: Six Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> Set roughly two to three weeks after "Knights of Hedonia".

Totally sadistic  
Won't tolerate submissive  
Never underestimate his drive  
Couldn't see him coming  
You're walking, but he's running  
You'll be catching up for miles  
—["Six Seconds"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=td5TIGSAsFs) by Ayria, from Hearts for _Bullets_

  
_Hey, Sky._

_Figured I'd write; Blaster says the pin beam's more likely to reach that way if the data packet's small._

_Cav and I think about you and the boys a lot. Especially you, in my case. I wish you came with us. ~~I hope all is well is well~~_

_Who am I kidding? I bet he's up to his old tricks. And you're stuck cleaning up his messes. Dammit, Sky, I wish I was more assertive. You should have come with us. You'd've been a huge asset. On top of that, I miss you horribly. We both do._  
_Well, the edge has been dulled a bit; had an incident, and now I'm in rehab. Technically mandatory — Ratchet and Magnus ganged up on me — but I've got a good therapist and although it's hard, I might be making progress. I think._

_You'd be happy to know that I've only gotten into a couple of fights ~~that didn't involve Whirl,~~ made some new friends — some from your old crew on Earth, in fact. I do have to wonder about Hoist — I don't think he's too crazy about me. Half the time I think he only follows me around so that I don't drag Trailcutter — Trailbreaker, something about losing a bet with Whirl or something — into whatever scheme I come up with. ~~Last adventure we had off the ship, on Hedonia~~_

_Strange how things happen. I came on board to get away, to start over. ~~Right off the bat, things got weird and~~ _

_Hey, Sky, I hope our paths cross again. So much has happened. So much I want to tell you in person. Some bad, but a lot good._

_And beautiful._

~~_I think I did the right thing._ ~~

**SEND | SAVE | DISCARD? >**_

The Reservoir  
The _Lost Light_  
Thirty Minutes Ago

"Did you try contacting Sandy and Creep?"

Artemis looked up from her datapad; Cavalier hovered above her, optics wide. "The thought crossed my mind," the larger 'bot admitted, "but I wouldn't know where to point the beam. Minerva said they left without a flight plan."

"Yeah," Cavalier fell hard on her backside next to Artemis. "I was thinking that myself. I tried to ping my cloud server, but I ran into similar issues; Blaster kinda yelled at me for taking up bandwidth. I did point out I was using barely half-a-kilobyte per click, but at the power level I was boosting my ping — yeah, can't technobabble him like I can Magnus and Rod."

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Artemis assured, resuming her reading, "We'll see them when we see them."

"You're not worried about them?"

"You know how suspicious Sandstorm can be? He wouldn't have gone if he had suspected anything. He's the sensible one. So no, I'm not. But if you must know, I did send a message to Sky — well, Jetfire."

"How do you think he's doing?" the white and black Minibot demanded as she pulled out her own datapad. "You think he decided to go off and explore the universe?"

Artemis sighed, a defeated, guilty exhale. "Not while Starscream's on planet," she admitted.

"Don't understand why he went about changing his name," Cavalier muttered.

"Shedding an old identity," Artemis explained. "He was tired of being in Starscream's shadow for so long, he needed to make a stand." She stared up at the star field above them. "He should have come with us, then. There are others who could keep a choke chain on Starscream. He didn't have to."

"Can I bring something up? The fact that if he had gone, you'd be the one staying behind. Hashtag: just sayin'. Let me pose this another way: you happy?"

The larger mech remained silent for half-a-cycle before nodding. "Yeah. I am."

"And guess what? Sky would be happy knowing that. So I hope you told him that."

"I did, actually."

Cavalier leaned against Artemis's arm, obscuring the datapad. "Did you tell him about 'Cutter?"

"I told him I met some of his old friends," Artemis nudged her companion away. "And it's none of your business what I told him."

"Well, I need to know in the case you're trying to be all secretive and slag," Cavalier countered, "because, yanno, I tend to shoot my mouth off. But seriously, took you two long enough."

"For frag's sake, Cav!" Artemis laughed. "Can't you go bug someone else for a megacycle?"

"Funny, 'Cutter said the same thing to me ten cycles ago. So whatcha doing?"

"You don't want to know."

"Sure I do. It's my job to know what my roommate's doing at all times in the case I accidentally walk in on her during a compromising situation."

"I'm reading the driest piece of legislation I've ever come across. And I have an undergrad in Pre-Law, so that's saying something."

"Tyrest Accord?" Cavalier's optics flickered. "Why?"

"Because I want to understand it." Artemis flicked off the screen. "It's been a while since I've had a challenge. Searching for loopholes, although I've got a suspicion Tyrest isn't as keen on those as Sirians are. Given my track record, I'll have it down in about fifty or so stels."

"And you're doing that to keep yourself sober?"

"More or less." Artemis stood, stretching her arms over her head. "Think I'm gonna exhume Skids from the bar and see what trouble we can cause in SB-Eleven —"

A red strobe flared in beat with an auditory-piercing klaxon.

"—Or we can see what that's about!" Artemis shouted, three steps into a run and out the door with Cavalier on her heels. Tapping her comm, Artemis hailed, "Oi, soldier! This a drill?"

 _"Weapon up and converge on the Medibay!"_ Ultra Magnus barked.

"Cav, take the ducts to the Medibay and stay in observation mode until I get there!" Artemis ordered. Cavalier saluted, diving for the nearest vent cover. Next hail: "'Cutter, give me some intel; what the frag's going on?"

_"Hard tellin' — Doc's sealed off the medibay; I'm en route now."_

"I sure hope the hell this is a drill," she grumbled with a double-clutch to her t-cog, transforming into vehicle mode and peeling down the corridor. "See you there!"

 

***

Brainstorm's Workshop  
The _Lost Light_  
Three sols after lift off

"Fancy meeting you again."

Brainstorm looked up from the twisted metal concoction on his workbench, yellow optics in a perpetual state of surprise. "Artemis! I had hoped we'd run into one another on this trip! It's been a while since the Betelgeuse campaign, and we didn't have too much time to sit down and chat. How are you?"

She cut to the chase and set a handful of hollow-point bullets onto the workbench, the rattle echoing hard in her hung-over state. "I've no problem obtaining my armour-piercers, but the JHPs are hard to get in this calibre. Can you reverse engineer them?"

"And here I believed you were going to pose me a challenge," Brainstorm sighed melodramatically. "Jacketed, you say? Any particular alloy?"

"Whatever blows your synapses."

The weaponsmith chuckled. "Oh, what fun I'm going to have with you. Ballistic tips tickle your fancy?"

"Unnecessary; Hell's a close-range pistol."

"'Hell'?"

"Stupid name, but it came with the package." Artemis picked up a reddish crystalline ore from the desk, turning it over in her hands. “What’s this?”

“Crystek ore,” he explained, “from the planet Master. Superdense, can withstand an excess of ten-thousand Gs of force. Tricky to shape, but I’ve done it before with amazing results. Last piece I have, really.”

“How much?” Artemis questioned.

Brainstorm’s optics dimmed quickly. “Excuse me?”

“How much for you to forge a blade out of this for me?”

“For you?” Brainstorm approached her, taking the ore from her hands and turning it over. “What would you want a knife for? Wreckers like don’t usually deal with close and personal unless it’s blunt trauma. I mean, brass knuckles, perhaps, but I’d figure this would shatter your fingers just as efficiently —”

“What’s the last weapon you’d expect a Wrecker to wield?” she interrupted.

“Something concealed, likely an assassin’s dagger." He eyed her in such a way that, if he had a visible mouth, he would be smirking. "Why, where are you going with this?”

“Last resort weapon,” she mused. “Hard to detect if frisked.”

“Ah, a mech after my own spark. Well, crystek has an amazing property that it isn’t detected by normal means, either, because it is, in all technicality, a crystalline structure, as opposed to metallic. But of course you would know that. So concealed, untraceable, last resort. Nothing explosive, then, but…” Pulling out a stylus and a datapad, he doodled a concept. “Something that cannot be disarmed — how do you feel towards modifications? Nothing serious, of course, and for the most part, reversible if needed. See, what I’m thinking is a piston sleeve.” He used the stylus to indicate the carpal chamber on the underside of his arm. “It would sit below the wrist, right here; the only thing is, do you want a manual or an automatic trigger? A manual one would be a gesture, like thus—” he flicked his arm, bending his hand back as though in palm strike, “—or automatic, which would be more challenging on my end, still doable, because it would require a mental command, and thus we’d have to wire a neural cluster from the sheath to activate the piston.”

“What’s less likely of failure?” she questioned.

“Realistically? The manual trigger would require conscious effort to keep from engaging at inappropriate times. One couldn’t, for example, do this,” he flicked his hand near his head in example, “or this,” he waved his hand in front of his face. “The automatic trigger would require thought to engage, that way intending for the use. We don’t have to link directly to the brain module; just splice it into the existing neural clusters in the elbow.”

“Will it require medical help?” She questioned. “Or is it something you could handle?”

“Oh, Artemis,” Brainstorm held up a finger, “You’re giving me permission to disassemble your arm just to make a last-ditch weapon?”

“Can you do it or not?”

“I haven’t even agreed to anything yet.”

“Actually, you did. You’re interested.” She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve been going through planning since I brought up the concept. I’ve been around Perceptor long enough to recognise an interested genius with a plan.”

“The only difference is that Perceptor wouldn’t dare pull something this—oh, wait, he did when he went sniper-mode, didn’t he? Well, his mods are his own.” Brainstorm rubbed his hands together. “Okay, Artemis, you have a deal. In return, I want to look over your firearms: the two pistols and the rifle. You’ve got names for them. You’re not the type to name things. You like people, not things, so things do not get names. Yet these do. And that interests me. Because they’re not just ‘things.’ Tell me their stories.”

Artemis’s expression died, a stone exterior, nothing hinting the cheerful drunk, hard-driving Wrecker, or scheming bootlegger.

There was nothing.

"There's not much to tell," she admitted. "The rifle was a gift, but the pistols, I acquired them. Stole them, if you will, from a thief who murdered their creator, a gunsmith from Reicere calling herself the Sybil."

"'The' Sybil?"

"Heard of her?"

"No, just strikes me as pretentious to precede one's name with an definite article. Any makers' marks?"

"Next time I head down to the lockers, I'll bring them for you to look them over."

"And you'd allow me to do that?"

"I've taken them apart and put them back together so many times, I could do it in recharge."

"Last question before we meet again: why do you lock them up when not in use? It's not like Rodimus has an expressed no-carry rule for well-behaved 'bots."

Artemis's mouth formed a grim line. "I think they're cursed."

 

***  
Medibay Floor  
Now

 

Pandemonium greeted her when she arrived, and, in the thick of it, was a large Decepticon Phase Sixer tossing 'Bots aside like rag dolls.

Overlord.

_Frag. Looks like you get your chance at Garrus-9 after all, Arty._

She pushed back the "why"; that would be for later. Assess the situation: fifty or so Autobots in a crowded hallway, unloading everything they could all while doing their damnedest not to catch their crew mates in friendly fire. Transforming back into root mode, Artemis drew Hell; no time to take Serendipity out of shotgun mode, and loaded with ballistic shot, she would cause collateral damage. Likewise, Heaven was strictly armour piercers; same to whoever was behind the Decepticon. Jacketed hollow points and melee it was.

"Cav, what's your twenty?" she ordered, bringing her sight to bear; the plus side was Overlord was a large target. He was slowed by the swarm of smaller Autobots using hit-and-run tactics, which meant her crew mates were crossing her line of sight. And as much as she hated the gashole, she wasn't wanting to fill out an accidental death report for Atomizer.

_"Me and Huffer are just waiting for a clearing — we're bringing support!"_

"Hang back; it's Overlord!" Artemis was not going to maintain a clear shot from the back lines; unhitching the hammer, she bolted forward, keeping tabs on the others to dodge and weave and stay out of their lines of fire. She needed to get in close. "'Cutter, give me some good news!"

_"Covering the exit point — he's not getting out this way!"_

Some echo; he was close by, likely behind, keeping Overlord from storming the medibay and the rest of the ship.

Pulling back her right arm across her body, letting the momentum slide the hammer handle through her fist, she ratcheted back in an upward swing, connecting with Overlord's chin, before following through with firing all twenty-three JHPs in the magazine into his face, full automatic.

She had a plan: roll with the attack, under his arm and switch the hammer to her left, getting behind him, drawing Heaven for a burst at the base of his skull. What, short of Unicron, could take an entire mag of high-cal JHPs in the face and survive?

Answer: a Phase-Sixer.

Her plan aborted when he snatched up her left arm and slammed her face-first into the bulkhead.

_That's gonna leave a —_

Something hard pressed into the small of her back; an elbow, a knee, a hand, something — pinning her.

_What —_

Something tore, a screeching grind of metal, the sickening spurt of fluid, and a supernova of pain exploded across her neural net. Optics shorted from the agony, but the sensation of flying — falling — and sudden stopping. She rolled on her right arm, getting her feet on the floor and spun, snapping out her shiv before bolting back in the fray, overclocked heat sinks in her brain case singing battle frenzy, overtaking her logic.

Using the wall to get air, she slammed onto Overlord's back, ramming the shiv into his neck repeatedly. Each stab carried a name, friends and brothers —

— some she never met —

— those who fell at Garrus-9 —

— those who returned but never left —

— but before the final name —

— _Springer_ —

— a hand clamped down on her head and threw her, hard, atop a growing pile of wounded.

A flash of red and yellow darted past her failing vision.

Someone had called out her name, but with the static of screaming pain receptors, she had no idea who.

 

NEXT CHAPTER: Wasted Wings

**Author's Note:**

> My only complaint about the canon of MTMTE is that it's difficult to gauge the time between issues unless explicitly stated. Then again, we're talking about a nigh-immortal race. Likely their own sense of time is skewed differently than ours. 
> 
> As the Thunder Clash footage from "Little Victories" takes place between returning from Hedonia and Overlord's escape, I tend to think at the very least two weeks passed between the events.


End file.
